


Good in Blue

by GuardianMira



Category: Marvel
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Blow Jobs, Costume Kink, Fluffy Smut, Jealous Steve, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Smut, but like, but not for very long, it's never too early for halloween fic, spoiler: he is, steve just wants to be tony's favorite, that's right i bring you Halloween Blowies, this was supposed to be fun and cute but then it turned into undiluted filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-15 18:31:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16068860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuardianMira/pseuds/GuardianMira
Summary: For Halloween, Tony dresses up as his favorite superhero: the Incredible Hulk. This doesn’t bother Steve. Nope. Doesn’t bother him at all.





	Good in Blue

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd, may be edited at some point in the next few days. this is set in that nebulous post-avengers fanon time period where they’re all living together in the tower. there is no mention of cacw or infinity war, and tony’s not with pepper, but tony is still mentoring peter and being World’s Best Super-Dad. this is probably going to feel very old-school to some of you, very 2012 fandom. i know, i know. but i wasn’t writing fanfic around that time so i guess i had to get it out of my system.
> 
> no warnings except please bear in mind that this is idealized fantasy sex. just pretend all the important stuff, like… showers, and discussions of safe sex and boundaries… took place off screen before the sexy bits happened. 
> 
> (here’s a hilarious joke: when i was planning this fic out and estimating the word count, i wrote in my notes “the porn will be 1k”… LMAO)

It’s during one of their sparring sessions that Tony brings it up. Steve hasn’t been paying attention to the date, hasn’t realized how close they are to the end of the month and what that means, so he has no clue what Tony’s talking about at first.

“I know you didn’t go last year, and it’s a little… chaotic, but it’s kind of a tradition,” Tony says, dabbing his sweaty brow with a towel and opening a water bottle. His damp hair is sticking to his forehead, and he’s sitting on the mat with his legs stretched out in front of him like a child. It’s an incredibly charming look on him.

Distracted, Steve says, “What is?”

“The Halloween party? The Halloween party I have every year?” Tony says. Oh, right. The thing Tony has been rambling about in between rounds when he should have been catching his breath. Steve has only been half-listening. When he spars with Tony, he’s focused on making sure Tony’s stretching out his muscles correctly after each session and drinking enough fluids; that Steve hasn’t gone too rough and accidentally hurt him; and that Steve’s eyes don’t linger too long on the strip of smooth tan skin that taunts him every time Tony’s shirt rides up. For Steve, sparring with Tony is as much an exercise in self-control as it is a physical one.

Tony’s looking at him expectantly. Steve drags his eyes away from the bead of sweat trailing down his neck, and back up to his face. Halloween party. Right.

“What about it?” Steve asks.

“I wanted to— well, you guys live here, now,” Tony says. “I just wanted to make sure you’re fine with me throwing a huge party and inviting people you don’t know into your home.”

“It’s _your_ home first and foremost, of course you can throw a party,” Steve says. “I’m fine with it. The others will be, too.”

“Hey,” Tony says, nudging Steve’s foot with his own. “We’re a team. It’s _all_ of our home.”

Steve tries to suppress a helpless, all-too-revealing grin, and fails. “You know what I mean.”

Tony smiles back, all messy and relaxed, not worrying about the disheveled state of his hair or the pit stains in his shirt because he’s always comfortable when it’s just him and Steve. He doesn’t mind letting Steve see him like this. Steve’s pathetic heart gives a happy sigh.

Then Tony asks for another round, and Steve obliges, and with his eyes and hands on Tony he forgets all about Halloween.

Their first Halloween in the tower hadn’t been anything special, and Steve barely remembers it. They’d only been cohabitating for a few months and still shied away from spending time together outside the tense, awkward, sometimes disastrous movie nights or dinner outings Steve insisted on. Tony had thrown a great big mess of a party on the communal floor, Steve and the rest of the team had made brief appearances before retreating to their own rooms, and that had been the end of it. Tony hadn’t bothered to ask them what they thought, not before, during, or after. 

But things are different now. There’s more banter and less sniping both on and off the battlefield. When Steve finds his whole team in the same room, he relaxes, feeling less like a drill sergeant clinging to authority by his fingertips and more like he’s come home. He and Tony have gone through the biggest changes of all. In fact, Tony’s become the person Steve spends most of his time with. They spar together; go out for lunch just the two of them; spend hours in Tony’s workshop, where Steve sketches while Tony builds; pair up for charity events, supporting each other’s causes; and often, when insomnia has them both wandering the Tower in the middle of the night, wind up on the couch together, where they talk quietly for a long time and then nod off in the early morning, leaning on each other’s shoulders. Before, Steve never would’ve predicted it, but now he doesn’t know how he ever got by without it— without Tony.

Steve turns out to be right. The others don’t mind the idea of a party, and Steve even thinks they’ll all stay for longer than five minutes this time. Tony also informs them that the party will be alcohol-free, because he’s inviting “the kids” – Peter Parker and his friends Ned and MJ.

“The adults can drink, but it’s BYO alcoholic beverage of choice,” Tony tells them. “I’m not providing it and I’m kicking out anyone who’s not mindful of our underage guests. That means you, Barton.”

“Hey,” Clint complains, half-heartedly. None of them will be drinking, because Rhodey had told Sam who had relayed to the rest of them that Tony is trying to get sober, has been trying and doing pretty well ever since he’d hit a low point a couple of birthdays ago, back before the Avengers had been thrown together.

“I normally wouldn’t say anything, because it’s Tony’s business, but he’s going to need help. Holidays are tricky when you’re trying to abstain,” Sam had said to Steve, quietly. “Everyone’s celebrating, and celebrating mostly means drinking—”

“I’ll make sure there’s not a drop of anything stronger than punch anywhere in the Tower,” Steve promises, and means it. He’ll take bottles from people’s hands and dump them out before their eyes if he has to.

“Uh, I mostly just meant be supportive and make sure no one’s pressuring him to drink, but—”

“Not a _single drop_ ,” Steve insists, and Sam only sighs, because he knows better by now than to argue with Steve about Tony.

Instead of hiring a crew to ready the communal floor for the party, Tony suggests offhandedly – almost as if it’s a joke – that the team could decorate together, and Steve sees the snarky comment for the offer it is and accepts before Tony can take it back.

Peter does by far the most work, climbing up the walls and ceiling to hang black-and-orange streamers, strings of lights shaped like jack-o’-lanterns, life-sized skeletons, and automated hags that cackle when anyone steps too close to them. When he gets his hands on the bundles of fake cobwebs, he maybe goes a little overboard, coating every doorway and corner with the stuff – but his enthusiasm is infectious and before long they’re all pitching in.

Steve helps Peter put up anything that requires an extra pair of hands, and keeps Tony company while he designs fog machines and special lighting for each room on the floor. Clint mostly just takes to hiding plastic bugs and rats in unexpected places, like inside cereal boxes or the shower or Tony’s coffee mugs. (Steve takes them out before Tony comes down for his morning coffee, because in his sleep-deprived pre-caffeine state he’s more likely to accidentally drink the toy than notice it in time to be startled). Bruce and Thor go shopping for enough candy to feed an army, and Natasha – well, Steve doesn’t _see_ her help, but he notices precisely crafted paper lanterns in every room that no one else claims to have had anything to do with.

It’s been almost a year and a half since the Battle of New York, but his team finally feels like _his_. He doesn’t mind how long it’s taken to get here; he’s just grateful they have. And he’s grateful especially to Tony, who gave them all a home and made it possible.

The morning of the 31st, they all wind up in the kitchen for breakfast at the same time, a rarity. Steve’s just come in from his run, and he’s at the table with a plate of eggs and toast, downing his third water bottle. Peter is digging into a mountain of food that puts even Steve’s appetite to shame, barely chewing because he’d crashed on the dingy couch in Tony’s workshop after a late-night engineering binge and is now on the verge of being late for school. Tony made it upstairs to his bedroom but emerged, bleary-eyed and still streaked with engine oil from last night, just in time to catch Peter on his way out and insist he ate before leaving. He’s next to Peter with a mug of coffee and nothing else.

“The lad can eat!” Thor says approvingly, patting Peter on the back as he makes his way to the counter to fill up his own plate. Steve always makes enough for everyone.

Peter hides a cough; Thor’s friendly gesture had nearly sent him face-first into his food.

“No outside voices before 8 a.m., Thor,” Clint complains. He’s shoveling spoonfuls of some kind of sugary cereal into his mouth. It’s a different brand each week; this one’s got a cartoon vampire on the box.

“No whining before 8 a.m., Barton,” Natasha says. He signs something rude at her. Steve doesn’t catch it, since he’s still learning, but it makes Natasha smirk.

Thor drops his plate next to Bruce with a clatter, making Bruce start. He’s nursing a cup of tea, both his hands cupped around it for warmth. Thor smiles apologetically as he sets his glass of orange juice down with considerably more restraint and takes the seat next to him.

Peter gets to his feet before he’s even finished swallowing his last bite of scrambled eggs, carrying his empty plate and cup to the sink to rinse off.

“Leave it, Pete, I’ll get it for you,” Steve says. He’s glad the kid has manners, but he really needs to be at school.

“It’s all good – I’m taking a shortcut. I’ll make it in time,” says Peter, and piles his things into the dishwasher. Steve guesses the “shortcut” he’s got in mind has something to do with the red-and-blue mask poking out of the outer pocket of his backpack.

Tony must be thinking along the same lines, because he narrows his eyes at Peter’s back and says, “You haven’t had enough sleep to be flinging yourself off skyscrapers.”

“I’ll stick to the low-rises.”

Tony snorts, but Thor says, “Not to worry. Our spiderling _has_ to live long enough to attend one of your famed Stark Tower revels. It would be a waste if he died before tonight.”

“ _Avengers_ Tower,” Tony corrects automatically.

“True,” says Peter, with a nod at Thor.

“See? He has good reason to be careful.”

“You know, Thor, somehow that’s not very comforting.”

“If I died before this party, Ned would drag me back out of the afterlife himself,” says Peter. “He’s been working on his costume for, like, a month.” He looks around at all of them, suddenly, as if something’s just occurred to him. “You guys have picked out your costumes, right? I mean, I know Tony has, but—”

Steve frowns. “I forgot about that part.”

“What!” Clint sounds appalled.

“We wear costumes every day, Hawkeye,” Steve reminds him.

“I’m not dressing up either,” Bruce says. Thor slings his arm around Bruce’s shoulders.

“My garb shall be magnificent enough for the both of us,” he says, and glares at Clint before he can open his mouth to argue with Bruce about it.

“What are you going to be, then, Peter?” Bruce asks, sipping his tea, apparently unperturbed by Thor’s grip on him or Clint’s offended expression.  

“ _We’re_ going to dress up as our favorite superheroes,” Tony says, and Peter rolls his eyes. But he’s smiling.

“I had to convince him not to make me my own suit,” Peter says.

“But you like the spider version.”

“Well, yeah, ‘cause I’m Spider-Man!” Peter tells him. “It works for me!”

“So you’re dressing up as Iron Man?” Clint asks. “Adorable.”

Privately, Steve agrees. That _is_ adorable.

“He’s dressing up as Cardboard Man because he won’t let me help,” Tony says.

“If Peter’s Iron Man, then who are you going to be?” Bruce asks Tony.  

Tony grins at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Steve tucks into his food to hide his own smile. It is obvious. Tony has said himself that Captain America was his favorite hero as a kid, though it took months for Steve to pry that confession out of him. He’s kept all his dad’s old Cap memorabilia – returning to Steve those items that had actually belonged to him, to his surprise and gratitude – and collected some himself, like posters and trinkets and newsreels. Tony’s probably dug up one of Steve’s old USO costumes to wear for the Halloween party.

Steve tries not to feel too flattered. He knows Tony’s poorly hidden fascination with Captain America has more to do with the symbolism, and fond memories from his childhood, than Steve himself.

Still. He thinks Tony will look good in blue.

#

Tony’s lights and fog machines completely transform the communal floor. Each room is awash in fiery red, sickly green, ghostly blue; artificial fog rolls in clouds across the floor, spilling out of massive cauldrons tucked into corners, wafting through doorways. 

Steve finds Bruce standing with arms folded against the wall of the living-room-turned-dance-floor and watching the crowd detachedly. As promised, he’s in his usual rumpled button-up and slacks.

“Not planning on joining in, huh?” Steve asks, coming to stand with him for a minute.

Bruce smiles wryly. “Dancing was never my thing. I might swing by the haunted house later, though.”

The “haunted house” is the rec room, which has been converted – with the aid of temporary walls made of sheets – into a maze.

“Really?” Steve says, brows raised. “I think they’ve got actors posted in there scaring people. You don’t think the other guy might object?”

“Jump scares don’t really bug me. Besides, I thought I’d go with Clint,” Bruce says. “He likes sneaking up on the actors and giving _them_ a bit of a scare. Nat says he’s good at it, too. I bet it’s more entertaining than this.” He nods at the dance floor.

Steve shakes his head. “I’d stop him, but I’m sure Tony’s paying them so well they won’t care. Have you seen Tony, by the way?”

“Nope.”

“Oh.”

“Not to worry, Cap.” Bruce sneaks a knowing glance at him. “He won’t be as late as he usually is. He’s coming in with Peter, remember? Kid has a curfew.”

“Wouldn’t say I was _worried_ ,” Steve mumbles. More like anxious to see Tony’s outfit, not that he’s saying that out loud.

He wanders the party for half an hour and manages to find his whole team and most of his friends, but no Tony. He catches Clint sneaking into the haunted house from the exit – “That’s cheating,” Steve says, mock-sternly. Clint’s response is a deadpan expression. He points at his ears, where his aids are clearly visible. “Sorry, what? I’m deaf, bye,” he says, and disappears into the rec room. He finds Sam and Sharon chatting with a cluster of people he doesn’t know, and Thor dancing with an elf, a witch, and a very scantily clad male angel. Thor seems to be dressed in the full regalia of Asgardian royalty, which sort of defeats the purpose of Halloween as that’s what he actually _is_. But it certainly looks like a costume to anyone who’s not Asgardian, and it’s as magnificent as he promised. His dates seem impressed, anyway. Steve suspects Thor knows exactly what he’s doing.

He’s just starting to get bored when the host arrives.

The party is full to bursting, but everyone seems to notice when Tony and Peter make their appearance. They notice Tony, anyway. His presence is magnetic, and there’s no end to the number of people who want to greet him.

Steve follows the ripples of excitement in the crowd to the elevator entrance, and sees Peter first. The teenager is dressed up in a boxy imitation of Iron Man, painted sloppily in red and gold, with an exaggerated frown drawn on the mask and blue LED lights taped to his palms for the repulsors. His friends are close behind him – Tony had gone to Peter’s place himself to pick them up, as he’d given Happy the night off.

Steve’s eager eyes find Tony beside him, but at first he doesn’t realize what he’s seeing— because Tony’s not dressed in red, white, and blue.

Tony’s wearing big green foam fists like oversized boxing gloves on his hands, and a scowling green mask pushed up over his forehead so he can talk to people, and a green foam chest piece shaped to look like an excessively muscular torso. He’s dressed up as the _Hulk_ , of all things.

Steve turns away, pretending not to have seen, and drinks his cider determinedly. He has to fight back a frankly embarrassing wave of disappointment. Tony hadn’t actually _said_ what his costume was going to be. Of course he likes the Hulk; everyone likes the Hulk. Especially if they’ve never met him. He’s very impressive, or something. More importantly, Bruce is one of Tony’s closest friends and his lab partner. _Obviously_ if Tony has a favorite hero, it would be the Hulk or maybe War Machine, and coming as War Machine wouldn’t have been any fun for someone who gets to be Iron Man every day anyway.

“Everything alright, Steve?” Natasha asks, coming up behind him. For once she manages to startle him, though he recovers quickly. Clint wrestled her into a headband with a pair of cat ears sticking out of them earlier. She put up a fight but hasn’t removed them. Other than that, she’s dressed normally, like Steve.

“Fine,” he says gruffly.

“Tony’s over there,” she says, gesturing behind her as her cool eyes watch Steve’s face carefully. “Thought you might want to say hi.”

“Is he?” Steve asks. “Right. I’ll find him in a little.”

“His costume’s really something,” says Natasha, propping her hip against the drinks table Steve had been eyeing as a potential means of escape. There is definitely a hint of laughter in her voice now. Steve scowls at her.

“I’m sure it is,” he says.

“He came as the Hulk. Not what I expected, to be honest,” Natasha says.

“No?” he replies, perking up.

“He said he was going to come as his favorite hero.”

Steve nods expectantly.

“I didn’t think the Hulk was his favorite,” she says. Steve has a moment of sweet vindication before she continues: “You know how much he loves Thor. I thought for sure he’d come in with a red cape and a hammer.”

Steve’s hand crushes his empty cup. 

“There’s always next year,” he grits out. Natasha laughs openly then.

“Steven Grant Rogers, please tell me you’re not jealous right now.”

“Jealous of what?” he says, not meeting her eyes. “I’m going to get some food. Do you want anything? No? Okay.”

He backs away from Natasha, face burning, and weaves through clusters of vampires and werewolves and mummies and devils before escaping into the kitchen, which has a few people wandering in and out but is mostly party-free.

He ignores the plates of food spread out on the counter, which hadn’t fit on the tables in any of the other rooms – Tony had gone a bit overboard with the catering, and Bruce and Thor had gone overboard with the candy and baking – and heads straight for the sink to fill a cup with cool tap water. He leans against the sink with his cup, smiling absently at people who pause to greet him on their way to the food or back into the party.

He just needs a few minutes. He needs to make sure whatever Natasha had seen on his face, that had tipped her off to how Steve was feeling, is gone without a trace before he goes back out and talks to Tony. If Tony thinks he’s unhappy, then he’ll think Steve’s not having fun or that something’s wrong, and that will ruin Tony’s night. He’s not letting that happen.

Ten minutes or so after Steve retreated into the kitchen, Peter comes in with Ned and MJ.

“Hey Cap!” Peter says cheerfully. Steve can’t help but grin fondly at his ridiculous Iron Man costume, which is already starting to fall apart, the tape holding the different pieces together starting to peel and the cardboard looking distinctly frayed.

He gestures with his empty cup at Ned’s outfit, a long black robe-like garment with a hood and embellished sleeves. “What are you? The grim reaper?” Steve asks.

“I’m a— a— a warlock,” Ned blurts, sounding terrified. This is an improvement. Steve’s only spoken with Ned once before, and that time, he didn’t manage to get through a complete sentence.

“His D&D character,” Peter adds, though this confuses Steve rather than clearing things up.

“And MJ,” Steve cocks his head at her. She’s wearing a headband similar to Natasha’s. “A cat?”

“Tiger,” she deadpans, pointing at the black and orange stripes painted on her cheek.

“Of course,” Steve says, nodding solemnly. “You did a great job with Iron Man, Pete.”

“I know, right?” He flips down the mask part of the cardboard helmet, which is just a box with a flap on the front. His voice comes out muffled underneath it. “You should’ve seen Tony’s face when he got a look at the finished product. Not that he did much better with the Hulk.”

“I didn’t realize he liked the Hulk so much,” Steve mutters, and instantly regrets it.

Peter flips up the mask. “I told him he should’ve dressed up as you, but he wasn’t having it.”

Steve’s heart sinks. “He wasn’t?”

“I mean, it makes sense, right? Iron Man and Captain America! You’re, like, a pair. They even made that animated movie about the two of you.”

“Are we talking about _Heroes United_?” That’s Tony’s voice, and there’s Tony, swanning in from the living room, his mask and gloves long gone and a bright red lipstick mark on his cheek. His hair is mussed, sticking up in clumps that Steve wants to smooth back down. “Because that film is the definition of a masterpiece. Maybe my favorite movie, ever. Though I still think they should’ve let me do the voice acting.”

“We weren’t really talking about the movie,” Peter says. “Steve agrees you should’ve been Captain America for Halloween.”

“I didn’t—” Steve says, flushing.

“Yeah? Wanted me to get all dressed up in your colors, Cap?” Tony asks, rounding the counter to come lean against the sink with Steve, his hands in his pockets, their shoulders brushing. His playful flirting normally makes Steve grin or blush, even though he knows Tony doesn’t mean it, but this time he can’t hold back a petulant scowl.

“I don’t care what you wear for Halloween,” he says sullenly. “I just don’t understand what’s so great about the Hulk.”

Tony laughs. The kids have lost interest in them and are loading up plates with food from the many platters scattered around the kitchen, which is good, because Steve wants as few witnesses to this conversation as possible.

“I couldn’t find a Captain America costume that lived up to yours,” Tony says quietly. “What can I say? The real thing’s just too impressive.”

Steve ducks his head to hide a reluctant smile. Tony’s sweet when he wants to be, but he’s ready for this humiliating conversation to be over.

“How’s the party?”

“Fine. It’ll be better if you quit hiding in the kitchen and come back out with me.”

Steve shrugs, dumps his cup in the sink – he’d normally wash it right away, but he’ll get it later – and follows Tony back out. The kids have already disappeared somewhere, and soon enough someone snags Tony away from Steve. He somehow knows every single person here, it seems. Steve tries to mingle and laugh and eat the food Tony ordered, which includes plenty of things that don’t necessarily fit the Halloween theme but are Steve’s favorites. He tries to have fun, if only so that whenever Tony looks his way or they bump into each other, he doesn’t have to worry about Steve.

Hours later, it’s well past midnight and the party is winding down. Steve is crushed on a couch between Thor and Clint. Clint’s dressed as Robin Hood, complete with a little plastic bow and a quiver full of suction cup arrows, which he’s been shooting at mostly Natasha and Tony all night since he got bored harassing the haunted house actors.

His phone pings with a text from Tony.

The text reads: _got a surprise for you_

It’s followed immediately by: _your room_

Steve warms from the inside out, like he’s swallowed another cup of hot cider. He knows whatever “surprise” Tony’s got in mind is probably something silly, a joke, maybe more teasing about that train wreck of a conversation with Peter earlier. Tony never makes a big deal of his real gifts, the thoughtful ones like Steve’s art supplies or Natasha’s handcrafted throwing knives.

Still. No one else gets a surprise tonight. _Bruce_ doesn’t get a surprise.

Steve bids Thor and Clint goodnight. He picks a handful of those miniature dark chocolate Snickers that Tony likes out of a tub-sized candy bowl on the table, and then he winds his way through the crowd, out into the blessedly empty hall and up to his quarters. If Tony’s gone to the effort to plant a “surprise” in his room and got impatient enough to summon Steve upstairs to find it, he’s certain Tony will be present to watch his reaction. It’s that, more than any curiosity about the promised surprise, that quickens Steve’s pace. He can only tolerate big parties for so long before he gets tired of the whole ordeal. If he gets to spend some of the night alone with Tony, sharing candy and making him laugh (even if it’s at Steve’s expense), then this Halloween won’t have been a total waste.

The elevator doors open onto his living room. The lights are on; the Halloween decorations Tony had helped him put up grin wickedly at him, but the wickedest look of all is worn by Tony himself.

Not that Steve notices his expression, at first. Because Tony – posed by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the skyline – is dressed in Steve’s uniform.

“What do you think?” he calls, hefting the shield a little higher and puffing out his star-spangled chest. “You wanted me to dress up as Cap for Halloween, and I can’t say no to you when you beg.”

He’s taken Steve’s actual combat uniform out of his closet. The cowl is pulled up over Tony’s laughing brown eyes and tidy goatee. The suit is fitted enough that it clings to Tony’s body, the blue encasing his muscled arms and legs snugly, the stripes showing off Tony’s trim waist, the star on his chest glowing faintly from the arc reactor underneath. He’s not the imposing, muscular figure Steve makes in the suit – he’s a more wiry, leaner version of Captain America. But the only part of the outfit that’s visibly loose on him are the red boots and gloves.

Steve steps numbly out of the elevator. “You’re wearing my suit.”

“Right, we’ve established that,” Tony says. He turns to consider his pose in the window’s reflection, and now Steve will never be able to un-learn the way Tony’s ass fills out those pants. The suit tightens everything up and makes Tony’s ass look even rounder and firmer than usual. Satisfied, Tony spins around again. “I’ve always wanted to try this thing on. Should’ve made you teach me how to throw the shield properly, though.”

“You’re not throwing the shield inside the living room, Tony,” Steve says. His feet are carrying him closer and closer to Tony without any apparent input from Steve’s brain, which might as well have short-circuited for all the good it’s doing Steve now.

“But I look good, yeah?” Tony grins irrepressibly at him. “Gotta say, being you is a lot more fun than being the Hulk.”

Steve is close enough to Tony to touch him, and he does, he can’t help it— just reaches out and tugs the cowl back, so that Tony’s soft dark hair comes tumbling out, flopping messily over his face. He takes his hand away before he does something unforgivably embarrassing, like bury his fingers in it.

“You look,” Steve tries, but he can’t finish, because up close and without the cowl hiding his face, the picture Tony presents is even _more_ striking, and Steve is acutely aware of the fact that he’s never been this hard in his life.

Tony’s expression changes, subtly. His eyes roam over Steve’s face; his pupils dilate, and his tongue flicks out to lick his lips. His breathing quickens.

“Yeah?” he says, inching closer. Steve’s hands find Tony’s hips and slot into place like they belong there, his thumbs rubbing over the familiar texture of the uniform, made strange and thrilling by the warmth of Tony’s skin underneath it.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes.

And this is— it’s finally happening, Steve realizes. No more _maybe someday if I get up the nerve to—_ or _he probably doesn’t even want—_ or _what if—_? Someday is now, and Tony obviously wants, so obviously that Steve feels like the world’s biggest fool for not doing something about it before, and the only question left is which of them will move first.

Steve does.

He slides his arms around Tony’s waist and pulls him in until their chests bump together. The shield drops to the ground with a clatter as Tony drapes his arms over Steve’s shoulders, arching into him, and their noses brush and Steve shuts his eyes as he kisses Tony’s parted lips.

Tony kisses back skillfully and with fervor. Steve’s kissed people here and there, sure, but it was nothing like this. After the first few frantic moments the two of them attune to each other, and their kissing becomes easy and smooth. He doesn’t have to think about it. It’s like he was born knowing how to kiss Tony.

He pries himself away from Tony’s mouth just long enough to say: “Stay the night.”

“You want— really?” Tony asks. He’s flushed and breathing hard, like they’ve been sparring, but through the haze of arousal his brown eyes are bewildered.

“I want you to stay, yes. Unless you have a different plan in mind, Captain?” Steve says, tentative.

Tony stares as if Steve is the embodiment of all his dreams come true at once. “No. Nope. Your plan is good.”

He gets a leg up around Steve’s hips. Steve, taking the hint, lifts his other leg and hoists him up, wrapping Tony’s muscular thighs around his waist.

“Now, take me to the bedroom,” says Tony. “That’s an order, soldier.”

“Yessir,” Steve whispers into Tony’s ear. Tony gives a full-body shudder and clings to his shoulders. He makes the trip from the living room to his bedroom in record time, kicks the door shut behind him, and tosses Tony – very carefully, mind – on the bed. Tony lands in a languid sprawl, propped up on his elbows with his knees spread to accommodate Steve, breathless and wearing a delighted smile. He’s so beautiful and his eyes on Steve are so bright and warm that Steve has to take a second, wanting to memorize every detail of this moment.

If he’d known he could make Tony look _that_ happy just by doing something he’s wanted to do since they met, he wouldn’t have waited so long.

Steve plants a knee on the bed between Tony’s legs, and his elbows on the mattress by his shoulders, and leans over him until their noses nearly touch. Tony’s gloved hands rise to smooth down his sides, and his wide eyes devour the sight of Steve above him.

“Well?” he says, so close the neat hairs of Tony’s goatee prickle his lips. “What are your orders, Cap?”

“Steve,” Tony says. “Are you sure—”

“I’ve been sure for months,” Steve tells him, reckless, not even stopping to consider that Tony might not feel the same or that this might just be a way of passing the time for him. If he’s going to do this, he’s not shying away from anything. “Maybe longer than that.”

“Oh,” Tony says, wonderingly. “Me too.”

His hands slide up Steve’s back so he can pull Steve in, closing the minuscule gap between their bodies. Steve keeps himself propped up so he doesn’t put too much of his weight on Tony, but this, this is heaven, Tony’s strong arms around him and his firm body pinned under Steve’s and his face and jaw and ears and neck all right there in kissing range. He rains kisses down on every inch of Tony’s skin he can reach, making Tony laugh – and he can feel Tony’s laughter as much as hear it, his body shaking under Steve’s, his smile against Steve’s cheek. Even when Steve’s mouth finds its way to Tony’s again, Tony can’t seem to stop grinning, and their kisses are clumsy, all teeth, noses bumping awkwardly.

Dazed with happiness, Steve licks sloppily at Tony’s smile until Tony’s arousal wins over his giddiness, and he opens up for Steve again. Tony’s gloved hands wind into his hair, messing it up and tugging harshly, but the sting is countered by Tony’s soft, relaxed body cradling Steve and his slow, sweet kisses filling Steve up with heat, like molten gold being poured into a mold. His hips grind between Tony’s legs, until Tony ruts desperately against him and Steve can feel the heavy bulge his uniform is no good at hiding.

Steve pulls away from Tony long enough to say: “Tell me what you want.”

“I want anything you want. Anything at all,” Tony says, unrestrainedly honest. His lips are red and wet from Steve’s mouth, so he has to taste them again, just for a second, before withdrawing with a messy smack.

“Tell me,” Steve insists _._

Tony blinks up at him, and his expression changes as understanding steals into his eyes. He pushes lightly at his chest until Steve backs up, slides off the bed and hovers, standing, over Tony. His hands come to rest on Tony’s shoulders; one of his palms skates up his neck and cups his jaw, his thumb stroking Tony’s stubble and the tips of his fingers brushing into his hair.

Tony sits up, planting his feet on the floor. His eyes are very dark as they gaze up at him, and in that moment it’s like he’s transformed. He doesn’t just wear the uniform; he _inhabits_ it in a way he hadn’t when he was posing for Steve earlier or laughing in Steve’s arms.

Steve swallows hard, and his cock twitches in his jeans.

Tony smirks.

“On your knees, soldier,” he commands. Steve doesn’t remember deciding to obey; Tony speaks, and then Steve is on the ground, kneeling between Tony’s open legs, facing the familiar stars and stripes of his own uniform. Steve’s fingers stray to the top of the red boots and trace up the blue kevlar, brushing over Tony’s knees. Tony’s thighs are toned and firm under his palms. Later, he promises himself, he’s going to peel these pants off and leave bite marks all over those thighs.

Tony lets go of Steve’s shoulders long enough to whip off one of the gloves, and then – Steve’s heart leaps – Tony’s bare hand comes down to pet Steve’s messy hair. His warm palm cups Steve’s face, the callouses pleasantly rough against Steve’s skin, and Steve turns into Tony’s grip to kiss his hand. Tony’s breath stutters. His thumb rubs appreciatively at Steve’s lips before he slides his hand to the back of Steve’s neck and grips there, not enough to control but with just enough authority to make Steve shiver.

“Unzip me,” Tony says. “Take out my cock.”

Steve does. It’s a good thing his fingers know every zip and clasp in the uniform and can undo them deftly without Steve having to think about it, because Steve’s mind is lost to the sound of Tony’s voice, hot and sweet and silky like dark chocolate melting in Steve’s mouth, and the sight of Tony’s face, his hungry eyes fixed solely on Steve.

The flaps of the uniform pants pull apart and Tony’s erection juts obscenely from the open V of the zipper. The picture Tony makes like this, fully clothed in Steve’s own uniform, with only his face and his cock bare, is enough to make his mouth water.

Tony spreads his legs as wide as they’ll go, and his cock twitches as if it can feel Steve’s starving gaze on it. It’s thick as a damn pipe, with a bit of a curve to it, flushed pink from the base all the way to the shiny-wet tip. His balls are big, too, and hang heavily between his legs.

Tony’s hand tightens on the back of Steve’s neck.

“Kiss it,” he orders. Steve is ready to bury his face in Tony’s crotch and never move again, but if Tony wants a kiss, Tony is getting a kiss. Steve presses his lips sweetly to tip, over the slit where it’s wettest, and angles his face so that Tony can see his mouth. He’s rewarded by Tony’s sharp intake of breath and his fingers tensing on Steve’s nape.

Steve trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down the shaft, laving his tongue up and down the throbbing length and reveling in the salty-bitter taste of Tony’s skin. He nuzzles into the opening of Tony’s— Captain America’s— pants so he can bury his nose in the dark curls peeking out from there. When he’s gotten a good lungful of Tony’s smell, he turns his head languidly to put his mouth back to work.

He licks his way back up the shaft, savoring every inch of heated skin his tongue runs over, until he gets to the head. There, he lets his lips take over, rolling them over and over the tip until Tony spurts a few drops of precum against Steve’s mouth, and Steve groans and licks it up without pulling away, his tongue cleaning up his lips and Tony’s slit at the same time. Tony’s cock is twitching and leaking nonstop by now, and Steve doesn’t want anything more than to give Tony the relief he clearly needs.

Tony must be thinking along the same lines, because it’s only a few more seconds before he says, “Put the tip in your mouth.”

His voice is ragged with desire, and delight thrums through Steve’s body. He’s never heard Tony’s voice sound like that. _Steve_ did that to him.

Steve pulls his lips away from the vein on the underside of his cock and presses them again to the slit. He uses the head of Tony’s cock to part his lips, letting it push his mouth open, until it’s resting on the flat of his tongue with his lips pursed lightly around it. Tony groans, and Steve shuts his eyes, blissful. He feels bigger in Steve’s mouth than he’d looked, even just the inch or so of him Steve’s taken. He clamps his lips tight around that delicious pink head and sucks fervently, his tongue playing over it, one hand straying from Tony’s thigh to massage his balls.

“Oh, Steve— that’s right, that’s perfect,” Tony whispers, and he touches Steve reverently with his bare hand, stroking his long fingers through Steve’s hair, cupping his cheek and jaw and tracing Steve’s lips where they stretch around his cock. Steve looks up at him, and Tony – flushed, sweaty, eyes dark with arousal – gives him that smile he reserves only for Steve, when it’s the two of them alone, whether they’re in the workshop, or out getting lunch together, or sitting with their whole team but then they look at each other and it’s like no one else is there anyway. It’s the same smile, so how had Steve never noticed before now how special it is, how private and loving and attentive?

Steve’s heart flutters; he feels so good and so light it’s as if he’s floating. He could stay right here forever, on his knees, as Tony moans his praise and his thighs tremble on either side of Steve and his hips shift restlessly like he’s preparing to fuck into Steve’s mouth. Steve’s free hand yanks open his own jeans and pulls out his cock, giving himself a few quick strokes to relieve the pressure.

“I’m going to give you more,” says Tony, and Steve gives a pleased hum around his mouthful by way of answer. Tony grips his neck nice and tight and flexes his hips, feeding more of his cock into Steve’s mouth. That thick hot weight sliding against his tongue, forcing his jaw open, is heavenly.

Tony stops halfway, maybe trying to be careful with him. That’s sweet and all, but Steve’s throat is aching with the need to be fucked. He tugs against Tony’s hold; he moves his hand from Tony’s balls to the base of his shaft and holds it steady as he swallows Tony down. He keeps going until his mouth meets his hand and he feels the open zipper brush his cheek. Tony swears, loudly and blissfully, and his hips jerk as if to thrust, but he holds himself back.

Steve looks up at him again with one eyebrow arched, challengingly, and Tony catches his eye and laughs.

“Okay, okay, I can take a hint,” Tony says, and he tugs Steve’s hair to pull him back a few inches only to roll his hips and thrust into his throat again. Steve manages a muffled moan, and his eyes slide shut so the whole world narrows down to Tony moving inside his mouth. Even the ground seems to fall away – everything that’s not Tony’s cock or his hands falls away.

On the next thrust, Tony uses his thumb to coax Steve’s mouth open so he can watch himself rub the tip of his cock on the flat of Steve’s tongue, and then he’s pushing back in, stuffing Steve full again. He gives Steve exactly what Steve wants, drilling into him over and over, his hips moving without pause, the muscles of his thighs and abdomen working under the uniform, his cock rubbing Steve’s lips and tongue and cheeks and throat until Steve’s mouth feels hypersensitive. His jaw aches. Tony’s hands, gloved and bare alike, are buried in his hair as if to hold Steve still. The thought makes Steve shiver, and he opens up wider for Tony to fuck him.

He doesn’t know how long this goes on before Tony pauses. He thinks at first Tony’s just catching his breath; he guides Steve’s head to rest against his thigh, where Steve looks up at him dazedly.

Tony leans over Steve without dislodging his cock from Steve’s mouth. His bare hand rucks up Steve’s shirt to pet fondly at the base of his spine before dipping down under the waistband of his pants and then his briefs. That big, calloused hand takes a generous handful of Steve’s ass and squeezes hard enough to make Steve moan. Tony’s cock slips down into his throat again, and Steve swallows convulsively around the thick shaft, his throat milking it.

Tony’s gloved hand strokes soothingly at Steve’s hair and neck and shoulders.

“My Steve,” he mumbles. “So good. So gorgeous.”

Tony rubs his fingers into Steve’s crack until he locates Steve’s hole. His touch is confident, unabashed; his fingertips don’t tease at all, toying and pressing at his entrance with clear intent. He traces around the rim, lets the pads of his fingers catch on it. Then the dry tip of his finger works carefully inside Steve, and it’s so shockingly good Steve’s vision whites out for a moment; his whole body jerks and he rolls his hips greedily into Tony’s touch. He knows Tony won’t be able to get much more than the tip inside him dry, but just to have Tony touching him there makes Steve delirious with want. It’s like his entire body has turned into one big nerve ending. His cock is leaking so much he thinks he feels it dripping onto the floor.

“Steve. Steve,” Tony says, and it’s not clear if he’s saying Steve’s name just to say it or if he wants Steve’s attention. But then he says: “Take off your clothes and get up here.”

His hands withdraw, and he gently pulls Steve off his cock, too, so Steve feels an aching loss for the split second before Tony’s command registers. Then he whips off his shirt with Tony’s help, Tony’s hands skating up his sides and tossing the shirt away as soon as Steve’s free of it. Steve’s a little wobbly as he gets to his feet, but Tony steadies him; Tony shoves his jeans and briefs down, and stares shamelessly at Steve’s cock as Steve steps out of the little puddle of clothes.

“Wow,” Tony says, eyeing Steve’s crotch with unmistakable hunger. “Okay, yeah, I’m gonna need that in my mouth right now.”

He falls back onto the mattress, lying flat, and beckons Steve closer with a mischievous grin. Steve can’t suppress his own smile as he climbs onto the bed.

“Don’t you want to get this off?” he asks, tugging at one of his suit’s many straps.

“Thought you’d like it if I left it on,” Tony says, his voice low and rough, his eyes dark.

Steve flushes. “Only if you want to.”

“I want to,” Tony says, and pulls Steve in for a quick chaste kiss before reaching around to smack his ass. “You’ll have plenty of time to undress me later.”

_Later?_ Steve thinks, joy bubbling up inside him. He sort of figured this wouldn’t be a one-time thing, but hearing Tony confirm it still makes him giddy. He lets Tony nudge him into place – on top of him in reverse, Steve’s legs straddling Tony’s face and Tony’s cock bobbing in front of Steve’s mouth again. It looks just as delectable from this angle, and it’s nice to have a soft mattress under his knees now. So Steve happily sucks Tony into his mouth, bobbing his head up and down.

Then Tony swallows Steve’s cock, and Steve has to pull off of Tony to gasp for air.

Tony’s mouth is heaven. He’s hot as a furnace and unbelievably wet; Steve loses himself for a second and thrusts, rougher than he would’ve intended, but Tony opens up for him like a dream and swallows him down, tip to root. Then it’s all pulsing tight heat as Tony’s throat massages his shaft. His hands travel over Steve’s back and sides, and Steve’s sensitive nipples and stomach rub up against the rough material of his own uniform. He manages a few more thrusts, gentler this time, before he’s spilling down Tony’s throat embarrassingly fast. He’s too blissed out to _feel_ embarrassed, though, not when his face is pressed into Tony’s strong thigh, and his hand is curled around Tony’s erection, and Tony is touching him all over and peppering his softening cock with small kisses.

“You’re amazing,” Tony says, “so sensitive. You taste _so_ good, sweetheart.” His gloved hand strokes Steve from the back of his neck all the way down his spine.

“Sorry— I, uh, that was fast—”

“Excuse me? What? No apologizing for the best thing that ever happened to me,” Tony says, and Steve stifles a laugh and doesn’t say anything else. He uses his hand and his mouth to bring Tony off, picking up the pace, figuring out the rhythm Tony likes best. Before, he’d been taking his time, savoring the experience. Now, he’s on a mission. He manages to fit his free hand between Tony’s body and the mattress so that he can grab Tony’s ass, encouraging him to thrust up into Steve’s mouth.

Tony’s less hesitant now that Steve’s on top and in control, less likely to be hurt if Tony lets go; so Tony _does_ let go, and it’s wonderful. He gets louder, moaning and begging and praising Steve, and his whole body writhes under Steve’s, and when he finally does come his cock jerks hard and fills Steve’s mouth with his taste.

Steve swallows every last drop, lapping at Tony until he’s clean, and then he tugs his pants down a few inches so he can kiss at Tony’s inner thighs where they meet his groin. The soft, lightly furred skin is damp with sweat. He rubs his cheek against it and listens as Tony’s gasps slow and his breathing starts to even out again.

He sits up, careful of Tony’s head under him, but before he can climb off, Tony’s hands come down and grip his thighs to keep him in place. Steve peers down between his legs to find Tony smirking at him.

“You’re hard again,” Tony observes.

Steve shrugs. “I can ignore it.”

And he really can; he doesn’t mind, not when he feels so content and satisfied, and he gets to be with Tony like _this_. But Tony nips at his ass and startles Steve into silence.

“Let me take care of you, Steve,” Tony says. He nudges Steve’s hips where he wants them, until Steve’s practically sitting on his mouth, his back arched stiffly as he tries to keep most of his weight on his knees, his hands resting on Tony’s chest for balance.

Then Tony licks the strip of skin between his balls and his asshole, and Steve almost jumps. He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that. Tony’s hands part his ass cheeks, and then he’s nuzzling into Steve’s crack and lapping enthusiastically at his hole.

“ _Tony_ , Jesus,” Steve gasps. Tony laughs against him. The tip of his tongue wriggles inside his asshole, squirming wetly against the sensitive muscle, and his soft lips kiss and suck at the rim. Tony’s tongue alternates between broad, firm swipes over his needy entrance, and teasing little flicks that make his hole spasm and flutter. Before long Steve’s riding him, grinding his asshole against Tony’s open mouth.

Steve pictures how Tony’s swollen, red lips must look right now, doing this. The thought punches a gasp out of him. Tony must realize how close he is, because he brings his gloved hand around to jack Steve off.

The feel of the leather is shocking. Steve looks down: his hard, leaking cock is encased in Captain America’s red glove. Tony’s stubble is scraping his ass as Tony eats him out, and Tony’s body is stretched out before him wearing Steve’s suit, and his pants are sliding off and his soft cock is lying against the red-and-white stripes of the uniform because of what Steve just did to him. Steve takes all this in and thrusts feverishly into Tony’s leather-clad grip, and comes.

His muscles tighten up; his hips roll frantically; every sensation magnifies a thousand times over, so he feels Tony’s mouth and hand through his whole body, up to his temples and down through his fingertips. His mind goes wonderfully fuzzy and blank, and his cock shoots out long thick ropes of come, energetically marking Tony from the star on his chest to his weakly twitching bare cock.

Steve groans at the sight and squirms on Tony’s tongue, which is still laving diligently at his soft, relaxed hole. Mindlessly, he tilts his hips so he can rub his half-hard cock against Tony’s face instead, wishing he could’ve marked him there too and shivering as Tony’s stubble scrapes the hypersensitive skin. Tony murmurs something he can’t hear, something encouraging, and catches the tip of Steve’s cock in his mouth to suck him clean. Steve comes down slow as the aftershocks rock him.

Everything goes a little blurry after that. He’s completely out of it for a few minutes, and in that time, Tony somehow manages to get him lying down. At some point he must have shed the uniform, and then the two of them are lying side by side, holding each other. All of Tony’s bare skin is pressed up to him. Steve’s cock gives a valiant twitch, but Steve is spent, and if the sleepy expression on Tony’s face is anything to go by, so is he.

Steve sits up halfway so he can reach over and turn off the bedside lamp, and then he scoops Tony back into his arms as if he’ll vanish otherwise.

“Back already?” Tony teases. “I thought you’d be a sexed-out zombie for at least another hour.”

“Don’t overestimate yourself, Stark,” Steve growls, but Tony only snickers at him, and Steve hides his answering smile in Tony’s hair.

Tony tilts his head up for a few sluggish kisses, which Steve is happy to provide. He can’t resist running his hands over every part of Tony he can reach. The smooth expanse of his back. His arms, littered with old and new scars. His shoulders, his stomach. The reactor presses into Steve’s chest.

It’s so _real_. That really happened, and it’s still happening even though Tony’s taken off the costume.

“Tony?” Steve whispers against his mouth. He feels Tony’s lips curl into a smile.

“Yeah,” Tony says.

For a second, Steve is at a loss. There are so many things he wants to say, to ask, but suddenly he can’t bring himself to voice any of those thoughts. It’s too much right now, when all he wants is to enjoy this moment. He trusts Tony, and he trusts what they have. Declarations and promises can wait for morning.

“Bet the Hulk’s not your favorite anymore,” Steve mumbles, finally.

Tony laughs, breathless and incredulous. “He never was, you big sap.” His hand finds Steve’s, resting on his flank, and he winds their fingers together. “He never was.” 


End file.
